


Another wednesday night

by flappergirlsfolly



Series: Big kid problems [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Disturbed home life, Questioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flappergirlsfolly/pseuds/flappergirlsfolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon attempts to give Bran and Rickon 'the talk', but the direction of life comes up to bite him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another wednesday night

**Author's Note:**

> This was a requested continuation of 'The Only Loophole', in which Theon gives Bran and Rickon the talk. It started out as a funny bit of fluff, but went a bit darker and ended up being a snapshot of Theon's life before it goes… south.  
> Let me know what you think- I've never written Theon's POV.

“But why?”

Theon paused, frowning.

“What?”

“Why?” Rickon repeated, folding his arms petulantly. On the bed beside him, Bran had curled up into the foetal position and had turned a worrying green colour.

“Well… they want to, I guess.”

“Yeah, but why do they want to? It seems like an odd thing to just _want_ to do- you know, ran-dom." The words caught in Theon’s throat, Rickon’s face contorting with impatience. “Why would they just want to put parts of themselves inside each other?”

“Well it- it, uh, feels good, I guess.”

“Rickon be quiet.” Bran groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Do their bits really explode every month? Like- like _explode_?”

“Why else would they bleed?” Theon lied absently, picking up a stray Iron Man from Bran’s desk and opening it.

“Like eating cake?” 

“Huh?”

“Does it feel good like eating cake does?” Rickon repeated, frustrated. Theon sighed and pinched bridge of his nose.

“No, man… it’s more like… it’s something in itself. It’s… as good as cake, but in a different way.”

“So it feels good and they do it.” The kid surmised, frowning. Theon rolled his eyes and nodded. He’d never had this many questions when Uncle Victarion and Asha had sat him down. He’d just accepted it and gone with it and lost half his virginity with a girl who’d turned out to be a guy when he was fourteen.

(That was a confusing party. He hadn’t minded, though a bit of foreknowledge would have been nice.)

“How do they know that it feels good? It seems kind of gross- you know, with the confetti you talked about. Why would they just decide to do it because it’s supposed to be good?”

“They just do!” he snapped. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“I think what Theon is trying to say is that they somehow know it’s good because they’ve heard about it and think it might feel nice with a certain pers- girl.” Bran supplied suddenly.

Theon raised his eyebrows in surprise at Bran who had finally raised himself to a horrified, seated position. A quick scan of his bedroom wall spotted one picture without the family- a blurry selfie of Bran’s bespectacled face smushed beside his creepy friend Jojen’s. Huh.

“Not always girls. Girls are great, but boys can be nice too. Y’know if you’re into that.” He added casually, turning a page.

Bran kept his eyes fixed on his knees, though it was clear he had been listening because he bit his lip, eyes wide.

Theon had spent so many hours watching TV with that exact expression on his face, the little, half hour pieces of life from normal, human places like King’s Landing or Highgarden- hell, Dorne.

“Bran, Mum’s on the warpath! Hide me-“ Arya stopped when she saw them all sitting there, but said nothing and dove behind Theon’s chair.

Nobody had a chance to say anything before Mr Stark and Jon thudded up the stairs like the dogs were after them. Oh, and of course they were looking at him like _that_.

“What’s going on up here?” Mr Stark asked, looming like he was waiting to snaffle up a chance to get angry with Theon.

“Do Mum’s lady parts _explode_ if she doesn’t get pregnant that month?” Bran blurted, killing Theon’s defense with a single blow.

“Theon said.” Rickon confirmed.

For half a second, his weight anchored to the chair, the warmth and general lightheartedness of the Stark house softly ghosting around him like he imagined a mother’s loving embrace would be.

Though he reluctantly pulled himself off the chair at Mr Stark’s command anyway, and slipped downstairs- Mrs Stark and Sansa were fighting about something and Robb was on the phone to his Jeyne. Normally he’d interrupt and say goodbye, but somehow he was zipping up his jacket and closing the door softly behind him before he knew what he was doing.

He didn’t want to go back to his father’s house. His bedroom was always cold and Balon had torn down his Guns n’ Roses poster years ago- what was so great about _fucking_ ACDC anyway? For a brief moment, he considered heading to Jeyne Poole’s (there was something about her shy, adoring smile that separated her from Ros’ dry, mocking laugh- it made him feel all wibbly and mushy inside) but her parents were weirdly religious (the type that bought chastity rings for their daughters at birth), and even despite the age gap, he doubted he’d even be allowed to see her past eight o’clock let alone spend the night. It had been easier when he’d been fucking Ros, but she was just hot, she wasn’t sweet and… whatever Jeyne was.

(Besides, Sansa would kill him- no, she’d have Robb kill him is she found out that he was seeing her best friend.)

He loitered at the gate for a long moment, debating whether to head home, or to the guy who worked at the Body Shop’s house. He was kind of festy and always smelled weirdly like strawberries, but they’d met at a party and Theon had somehow spilled his soul to the guy, who’d offered him a sofa if he ever needed it.

“Was he mad?”

Theon yelped, spinning around as Jon’s crazy girlfriend clambered out of a nearby tree. She frowned when she saw him.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“You sound cocky for someone who got caught being sucked of by her boyfriend by his dad.”

“Robb said you were staying here tonight- don’t bail out on us tomorrow, we’re not presenting Shakespeare without the whole group, Greyjoy.” She muttered, ignoring his jab.

“Mr Stark kicked me out.” He muttered. She pulled a face.

“What did you do?”

“Why do you think I did something? Maybe he just hates me for no damn reason!” he snarled.

“Fine, don’t tell me.” She muttered, rolling her eyes. He sighed, and dropped his shoulders.

“I gave Bran and Rickon the talk.” She winced and patted his arm. “What’s the big deal anyway? It’s better they know now rather finding out years after everybody else does.”

“Yeah.”

“And Bran’s clearly in love with the wannabe taxidermist. He needs somebody to look after him-“ He trailed off, watching her watch him curiously. “What?” he spat, defensiveness jumping up at him. “Why am I telling this to you- you- wog.”

She rolled her eyes again and gave him awkward thumbs up.

“Whatever. If you need a place to stay, Dalla won’t mind if you kip on a mattress.”

“I got a place.” He muttered, flipping up the collar of his jacket. “Give Snow a kiss from me.”

She let out a bark of laughter and crossed to the tree she had scrambled down.

“Hey, Arsehead?” she called, as he began to move away.

“What?”

She seemed to struggle, as if giving herself the strength to find words enough for this horrible task, before giving him a tight smile.

“You’re okay as you are. Don’t let dicknoses make you think otherwise.”

He wanted to say thanks.

He couldn’t.

“You calling Mr Stark a dicknose?”

“I guess so.”

“He’s better than you’ll ever be.”

“There’s the Theon we all know and tolerate.” She muttered, shimmying her way up the oak trunk.

He turned and walked down the street as spits of water began to fall from the sky. All he had to do was remember Ramsay’s address right- somewhere on Dreadfort Lane?


End file.
